


now we're on the trolley

by anthropologicalhands



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Everyone Wants To Be Friends AU, Families of Choice, Female Friendship, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, It's a speakeasy theme, Party, There is also a cameo, best way to describe it is kind of a imaginary mid-season 4 finale, gurlgroup4evah - Freeform, people are settled and just having a good time, post-season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 04:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15922883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthropologicalhands/pseuds/anthropologicalhands
Summary: Valencia throws a speakeasy-themed party. Through good intentions, casual intimidation and a desire for a good time, the night goes on.





	now we're on the trolley

**Author's Note:**

> What started as a fun piece, quite naturally, ended up running completely away from me. In terms of timeline, the best way to think of this fic is taking place as an imaginary mid-season 4 finale, where a lot of emotional history and frustrations have been hashed out and dealt with accordingly, and now everyone just wants to be friends and get along and be silly. If you're down for that: have fun!

~

For over fifteen years, Whijo and Hector had witnessed how Josh Chan was obliged to bow to Valencia Perez’s every whim. Changing his clothes, his tastes, even his hair—doing everything and anything all for the sake of making her happy. And, because she was terrifying, they often found themselves roped in and going along with whatever she wanted, tolerating her in their space, and following her orders.

When the couple finally ended things for good, Whijo and Hector had breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that they could finally relax.

Except fifteen months after that breakup, they were somehow still doing Valencia’s bidding at a moment’s notice.

“Weren’t we supposed to be done with all of this?” asked Hector, grunting under the weight of the massive velvet chair that needed to migrate across the room. “I thought we were done with all of this.”

From the outside, the _Rattlesnake Lounge_ appeared to be a hollowed-out warehouse on North Cameron. Inside, the interior had been freshly renovated in classic Twenties decor, lined with dark wood and plush chaises, which Whijo and Hector were hard at work moving to the edges of the main room to clear out more space for dancing.

 “We were,” said Whijo, shuffling carefully backwards to avoid dropping the chair right on his borrowed spats. Darryl would never blame him for an accident, but he would make the face with the eyes that Whijo absolutely preferred to not give reason for.  “Then you started dating Heather and we both got screwed.”

Hector glared, the effect ruined by his newsie cap slipping over one eye and staying there. “Hey, don’t pin this all on me when _you’re_ hanging out with Rebecca’s other boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend.”

Hector’s visible eye narrowed. “Is he though?”

“Honestly, I stopped asking. Thinking about Rebecca Bunch’s love life makes my head hurt.”

“Fair. Either way, isn’t he supposed to be helping us with all of this? Where is he?”

“He’s picking up Darryl, and Darryl had to get the girls ready to go stay with his mom, so if they are less than thirty minutes late they’ll be making good time. Okay, put it down here.”

They stuck the overstuffed chair in the corner and turned back to survey their work. With the high bar tables and the chaises and ottomans moved to the edges of the room, there was now a clear space for dancing right by the main bar.

“Well, that’s better,” said Whijo, taking out his phone and pulling up the attachments from Valencia’s email. “Now we need to get the poker tables set up.”

“Joy,” grumbled Hector.

There was a rapping at the door.

“Hey, at least we have more help this time,” said Whijo, tucking his phone into his pocket and heading for the door, pulling back the latch. When he tried to pull it open, however, it wouldn’t budge.

“What the hell?” He rattled the door, then scowled. “Darryl, are you holding the door shut?”

“With both hands.” Nathaniel’s voice drifted through the door, resigned.

“He didn’t ask me for the password!” Darryl insisted.

“Password? Oh my g—Darryl, that’s for the guests. You’re not just a guest and the party hasn’t started yet; just come in.”

There was a pointed silence from the other side of the door. Whijo tried to pull it open one last time, heaved a long-suffering sigh, and stepped back.

“Fine. What’s the password?”

“Haberdasher!”

“Perfect,” said Whijo, turning the knob. “Hey, Darryl. Looking….” He blinked hard, eyes overwhelmed by the sudden sensation of _holy moly purple_. “…very sharp.”

Darryl beamed as he bounced in.

“Thank you! It’s not too much, is it? I was worried the color would be a bit too much.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Whijo diplomatically.

“Oh no,” said Hector. “Not at all. I haven’t seen that shade since I stopped watching Barney.”

He yelped as Whijo ‘casually’ knocked his elbow into Hector’s ribs, leaving him wincing.

“I couldn’t talk him out of it,” said Nathaniel, stepping through at Darryl’s heels, one hand on his hat as he ducked through. Though the cut of his suit was similar, it wasn’t nearly as flashy –the green of his pinstriped suit was dark and subtle.

“Funny you should say that,” said Darryl to Hector, adjusting his lapels. “The baby really responded to this color. I thought she was excited that her daddy was all dressed up.” He paused thoughtfully. “It would explain the screaming before we lift.”

Nathaniel caught Whijo’s eye and shook his head, casting his eyes upwards.

“Of course,” said Whijo, clapping his hands together. “Anyways, you guys are on time, so let’s get over to the card room. Father Brah’s in charge and he’s running late, but he left some pretty detailed instructions on how to get started with set-up, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

“The priest is directing poker games?” asked Nathaniel, falling into step by Whijo as they moved to the backmost room.

“Father Brah is a man of many talents,” said Whijo sagely. “You wouldn’t be so surprised if you heard some of the stuff he got up to in high school. He used to scale the buildings to get away from security.”

“Why was he running from security?”

“Nothing big. Smoking weed, mostly.”

“And he almost got expelled over the senior prank,” Hector chimed in. “Josh had to do a lot of fast talking to make sure that didn’t happen.”

“That worked?” Nathaniel asked incredulously.

“Not because he was persuasive; it got so convoluted that the principal gave up trying to figure out what happened,” said Whijo in an undertone.

“What was the prank?” asked Darryl.

“He wrapped all of the school doorknobs with Saran wrap,” Hector explained. “Which doesn’t sound like much, but it took an hour for the janitors to cut through. And then they found out the locks were sealed with hot glue.”

“So yeah,” said Whijo. “Card games are child’s play.”

“Pun intended?” asked Darryl.

“Of course.”

“Just making sure.”

~

For Valencia, running an event was a bit like conducting. Everything had its place. If she could ever persuade Heather to take her to the archery range, she had no doubt that she would be a natural. Moving targets were just a series of precise calculations. And in event planning, she had the advantage of leveraging intimidations to keep her volunteers moving at a brisk, efficient pace.

“Nathaniel! Do you have the tokens?”

Nathaniel drew them out of his pocket, the clinking audible.

“Still unmelted,” he said. “These better not stain the suit’s lining.”

“Then you better not be stingy in passing them out,” said Valencia sweetly. “Tell Darryl too, won’t you?”

Nathaniel nodded, and set back toward the poker room at a slightly too-brisk pace to be casual.

Good, she still had it.

She took another round of the perimeter of the room, passing Whijo and Hector setting up stools at their doorman station and testing the lights. The perimeter of the dance floor was marked out with shimmering duct tape, and those not in the mood for dancing could either sit at one of the many tables around the edge of the room, or the stools at the bar, or duck behind the black crepe curtain to the lounge area, or slip behind a seemingly solid black wall to a ‘secret’ back room where the poker games would be held.

She was running through her checklist a second time when the familiar click of Beth’s shoes came up besides her. A glass showed up in the corner of her vision.

“I brought your wine.”

Valencia didn’t look up from her tablet. “I already tasted the wine.”

Beth, sporting a bowler hat and a sequined black jacket, switched the glass stem to her other hand and slung her arm around Valencia’s shoulders, gently drawing her closer.

“Not what I was asking. Come on, a good hostess in the 1920s was never without.” Beth wrapped her fingers around Valencia’s, squeezing briefly, before tugging the tablet away. Valencia relinquished it reluctantly before accepting the wine glass, contenting herself with a brief scan of the room.

On the dance floor, Josh and Rebecca were walking through dance combinations, counting off and spotting the other’s moves. Heather was setting up behind the bar with Hector and the assistance of the other bartender. Nathaniel, Whijo, and Darryl stood just outside the poker room, talking quietly.

“How does it look?” Valencia asked Beth.

“Amazing,” Beth rubbed Valencia’s shoulders, resting her chin at the crook of Valencia’s neck. “Everyone did a great job.”

“They got the aesthetic right, at least. I mean, we had to reuse the cityscape from Jenny’s party, but I don’t think it looks _too_ kiddy—”

“Mr Saperstein loves it. And the guests are going to love it too.”

“Are you sure?” Valencia turned to her with pleading eyes. “Do you think they’ll understand the invitations? Like, speakeasies are meant to be all hidden and exclusive and Rebecca’s instructions were really clever,” she dropped her voice. “But you know how she gets with her references, she can’t resist being complicated, what if it’s too much and no one can find it—”

“Which is why Heather reviewed Rebecca’s copy and took out every other step,” said Beth firmly. “And remember, the guys may have done a great job of making this place look illicit and underground, but we’re still in an ugly concrete block on North Cameron. It’s pretty hard to miss. Plus, you know, we did print the address on the back, in case anyone gets really confused.”

Valencia laughed reluctantly.

“You’re right, of course. I just need to breathe. In and out, in and out— _ugh,_ I knew I should have done a few stretches before we came out here!”

“You’re doing fine. Have a little more wine.”

Valencia shook her head, agitated. “We can’t mess this up, Beth. We pull this off, and it could take us to the next tier. With this kind of money—there is absolutely no excuse for anything to go wrong.”

“And nothing will. Look, your friends all put one-hundred and ten percent into _literally_ everything. Rebecca and Josh have been practicing for weeks, Heather memorized bibles of cocktail recipes, Father Brah got his poker buddies to come—we’re going to be fine.”

She leaned in to kiss Valencia on the nose, then pressed her forehead to Valencia’s. Valencia allowed it, but she still looked unconvinced as Beth drew away.

“I wish Saperstein wasn’t an idiot,” she said.

Beth shrugged. “Well, you can’t have everything. And the guy is bankrolling with money he got from a lawsuit after being hit by a Prius; we knew it was going to be a little interesting. But at least he’s been enthusiastic. Now come on, get dressed, the guests are going to be here soon.”

~

Eight o’clock came and went. By eight-thirty, the guests were starting to come through.

They were ushered through the doors in their sequins and fringe, their hats and coats; all had abided by the dress code. Each one flashed their invitations, gathered at the door by Hector and Whijo. Saperstein bounced between each guest, welcoming them enthusiastically, his oversized fedora precariously perched on an impressively immobile upsweep of hair, making himself an object of admiration among other flashily dressed young men and a nuisance for everyone else. The guests spread out throughout the room, picking up drinks and murmuring among each other, the jazz on low—biding their time before they kicked off the dance hall.

Valencia hovered by the bar where Heather was stationed. She had changed from her business pantsuit into a slinky black number, while Beth was currently working through the crowd, greeting guests she knew by name and introducing herself to the rest. Heather, resplendent in an amber sheath, her hair in an upsweep, watched in amusement.

 “Well, you don’t need to worry anymore. Despite their many confusing quirks and oddities, the people of West Covina found their way,” she said. “This is a good crowd, Vee.”

“I know, right? We better have enough drinks.”

“There’s literally a swimming pool of alcohol back there. If we don’t have enough, we have a different problem.” Heather picked up one of the ornate bottles on the display, studying the label. “Hey Vee?”

“Hm?”

 “What kind of alcohol is Snake Juice? It sounds kind of gross and ominous.”

“It’s going to be the house special liqueur,” said Valencia, not looking up from her laptop, perched on a stool at the bar. “Or so Saperstein tells me. You saw the recipe book, right?”

“Yeah, I did. Where is this from? I know all the local microbreweries and this definitely isn’t from any of them.”

“Indiana.”

“Huh. Well, good for Indiana, remind me never to visit. She looked up and let loose a low whistle. “In other news, check out Rebecca’s hot little number, _damn_.”

Valencia turned to see Rebecca approaching the bar, having changed into her evening clothes, the fringe on her chartreuse dress glittering under the lights, hair teased into finger waves and bouncing under her feathered headband.

“ _Wow_ , you go girl,” said Valencia in approval.

Rebecca brightened under their approval, giving a little twirl.

“Why thank you, you foxy Whisper sisters.”

Heather cocked her head and shared a look of confusion with Valencia.

“What?”

Rebecca looked between them. “Whisper sister—female proprietor of a speakeasy? No? Not ringing any bells?”

“Afraid not,” said Heather, while Valencia shook her head.

“Didn’t you guys read the phrasebook I sent you?”

“I didn’t have time,” said Valencia. “I was trying to persuade my client that having a bunch of Great Danes lying around the club _a la_ Lady Gaga was completely passé.”

“And I was learning about new cocktails, so.”

“Aw.” Rebecca’s shoulders slumped and she pouted at the knowledge that her reference was for naught, but quickly regained her good cheer and turned directly to Valencia. “Well, either way, that leads right into my question for you: what’s the deal with using flapper lingo? I have been reading up and I am ready to go. So, you’re the boss: any restrictions?”

“Just…normal stuff, I guess?” said Valencia, eying Rebecca a little warily. “Stick to easier phrases so that the guests understand what you’re saying? And avoid anything that sound even remotely racist or offensive.”

“Obviously. So how much lingo is too much lingo? I can tell them that I’m going to see a man about a dog, right?”

Valencia nodded. “Yes, that one’s a classic.”

“How about, like, ‘this Jane didn’t get dolled up in glad rags to pet with some dewdropper’?”

Valencia blinked. “It’s…okay. I think?”

Heather ducked down to check on the number of glasses, hiding her smile.

“Cool. What about, ‘we don’t let any bluenoses get away with giving Bronx cheers in this blind pig?”

“ _Rebecca_ , it has to sound like some kind of logical English.”

“Yeah, of course, got it, got it.” Rebecca nodded violently, giving two thumbs up, jangling as she did.

“Hey, Bex!” Josh called from across the floor. “Come on! Let’s get it started!”

Rebecca winked. “Wish me luck!”

~

If there was one thing Josh Chan knew, it was dancing.

People were happy when they danced. He knew how to move with them, how to dance and weave close and away. Feet thumping, bodies jumping, heads bopping, moving-to-this-rhythm hopping dance. Sure, swing dancing was totally a different beast and the extra practice time absolutely needed, but he knew he had the best moves down.

Now, as he faced Rebecca at the center of the dance floor, waiting for the music to start, Josh felt the familiar lightness in his feet, going off the heels onto the balls of his feet, on the edge of something great.

He took a deep breath and reached for Rebecca’s hand. She gave it to him, returning his grin with an impish smile of her own that eased the last of his anxiety.

“Everyone, watch closely,” he called to the waiting crowd, holding up a hand to draw their attention. “Ready?”

The crowd around them broke into a scattered applause.

“All right! _Fivesixseveneight—”_

The music kicked up, and he and Rebecca jumped into the Charleston.

Before this, he had thought that it would take time to be comfortable with Rebecca again. A lot of time. But rehearsing together had cut a lot of that down, as they learned each other’s rhythms in a new way. It was almost like starting from scratch, and their shared laughter as they stumbled through the unfamiliar steps had done a lot to bind them together again.

The Charleston didn’t come naturally—he was used to containing his movements before springing them out, and the arms were much looser—but years of dance experience were on his side, as was Rebecca’s super intense work ethic. He had even tentatively floated a couple of his own ideas. Just a few ways to spice up the choreography and make people want to join in.

And Bex _liked_ them. Had laughed and clapped in delight when he showed off a few improvisations and immediately agreed to put them in the routine, making him really feel like he was contributing something.

It felt _so good_ to be useful again.

He liked this part, getting to show off a little, spinning and twisting with Bex all over the dance floor, to the delighted whoops from the crowd. The dark purple and silver of the bar’s interior blurred together, and it was good that the floor was lined with lights so they could stay within bounds. Bex was enjoying it too—she was bouncing on the soles of her feet with every move, smiling and just glowing with the delight as they one-two, one-two-three’d to the sound of the brass and in time with the drums.

…And they might have added a little hip-hop flair that wasn’t entirely period-appropriate, but that was his trademark and couldn’t be helped. More importantly, no one seemed to mind it, laughing and whooping as they were.

He caught sight of Valencia when he and Rebecca broke apart to Charleston side by side, kicking and tapping, and she was smiling too, a genuinely full smile, and his heart did another little flip-flop that was beyond the pulse of the music.

“All right,” he called out as he and Rebecca finished out the sequence. “Everyone, on the floor for your lesson. Let’s boogie!”

“Come on, hoofers and floorflushers, don’t be shy, get over here!” hollered Rebecca, eyes sparkling, her arms sweeping grandly to beckon Maya and her group of friends closer.

“That too!”

~

Across the club, Darryl found himself in the poker room, sitting among other surveyors that he and Nathaniel had roped in, waiting their turns at the tables. He might have been card-shy himself after his disastrous performance at the office game, but he still found it interesting to watch, adding his own commentary on occasion until his seatmates remembered they wanted to be at the bar or scowled at him too much, and he would fall silent again. Father Brah directed the room with the ease of an expert.

Mrs H had been one of the first to the tables and, unsurprisingly, had yet to be dislodged. Sure, some of Saperstein’s young associates were a little too cocky, thinking that the small woman with the prim bun was an easy mark, but they would learn, and Darryl took comfort in the fact that he wasn’t the only person made overconfident by beginner’s luck.

Yes, he was comfortable to be here a little longer until it was his turn again, and here he was also guaranteed not to keep looking over to the entranceway, where Whijo was still handling late admissions. Darryl could meet up with him later, when they had time to actually talk properly. Only if he wanted to, of course.

“Wow, they’ve really got a full operation back here.”

Darryl looked up at the sound of the familiar voice, grabbing the back of the chair in front of him to keep from bouncing up in glee and blocking the view of the other participants.

“Paula!”

~

“I thought you were studying tonight.”

“Oh, I was,” said Paula, stepping through the entranceway, a dream in midnight blue and carrying a feathered fan. She looked around, impressed. “But I was starting to see clauses every time I close my eyes, and Valencia kept sending me Snapchats. And then this fine fellow caught me procrastinating,” she waved a hand behind her as Scott ducked through the entrance, replacing his hat on his head. “So here I am.”

“That’s wonderful! Have you said hi to everyone?”

“Rebecca was tearing up the floor with Josh, but yeah, I managed to catch Heather and Valencia. Her and Beth have really done a number with this place.”

 “They really have. Are you going to play with us, then?”

“Maybe. Scott wanted to quickstep, but I think we need to wait for the floor to clear first. It’s a bunch of twentysomethings just kicking all over the place.”

“Good to see you again,” said Scott, offering his hand for Darryl to shake.

“Same here.” Darryl pointed at him, or rather at his hat. “And I love your outfit! Very dapper. Love the candy stripes.”

“We thought it would fit the theme,” said Paula, without much conviction.

“Don’t you usually wear it only with the West Brovinas?” Darryl asked.

Scott adjusted his lapels, beaming. “Thanks! I didn’t know you’ve seen our shows.”

“I haven’t yet, but I’ve wanted to ever since Paula mentioned them.”

“That’s great—I can message you for our next one.”

“So, what’s the story here?” Paula asked, scanning a disinterested eye over the poker tables. “I thought you needed tokens, except Nathaniel kind of just waved us through and said there were a bunch of gullible morons up here. Excluding you fine gentlemen, of course,” she added unconvincingly, as a couple of men in front of Darryl twisted around to glare at them. They returned their attention to the games in progress, and she pulled a face at their backs.

“And why is Father Brah dealing?” Scott asked, leaning around Paula, his forehead wrinkling in confusion. Father Brah looked up from his table and waved cheerfully.

“Just making sure that things don’t get out of hand, Scott,” he said. “Trying to keep people like this devious squirrel on my right from cheating.” The young man hastily leaned back.  “Yeah, that’s right, I saw you.”

Paula just shook her head, amused, as both Darryl and Scott nodded in acknowledgement.

“Oh! It’s been going very well. Some interesting rounds so far. And,” Darryl nodded towards the tables significantly. “Mrs. Hernandez has won the last three hands.”

Paula looked intrigued. “Really? Our Mrs. H?”

“You better believe it!” Mrs Hernandez called out, mien still serious despite the pink sequins and the dyed ostrich feathers, not looking up from her cards.

“I should have known you had it in you,” said Paula.

“Don’t be a flatterer, Mrs P. Gonna try your luck?”

“Not for candy, I won’t,” said Paula. “You better have some real stakes before I get anywhere near these cards.”

“Oh, don’t be modest,” said Mrs Hernandez, laying down her cards and sending her opponents groaning. “I know what you’re capable of.”

“Yeah, not gonna happen.”

Mrs Hernandez arched an eyebrow at her. “What is it? Don’t tell me you’re scared—that’s just disappointing.”

“You know I’m not.”

“Really? Because I think you are.”

Father Brah’s eyebrows went up, though the serenity of his expression otherwise remained the same.

Paula could, when it suited her, keep an excellent poker face. She knew that particular taunt. Knew better than to fall for it, even…

“Is that a challenge, Mrs H?” she asked, snapping her fan shut with an audible click.

Oh, what the hell. She was here to have some fun.

The chatter in the room suddenly flattened, sensing a change in atmosphere. Mrs. Hernandez smirked.

“You bet your ass it is.”

Paula studied Mrs Hernandez’s calm stare, considering. Then she wiggled her shoulders, gave a cold smile and swept forward.

“Out of the way, boys,” she commanded. Obligingly, they skittered away from the table, eyes averted, leaving Mrs Hernandez staring her down. She smirked, and Father Brah began to shuffle the cards, the snap as they collapsed together ominously loud.

Darryl bounced excitedly.

“That’s my best friend!”

“That’s my wife!” declared Scott proudly.

She didn’t have to look at them to know that they were beaming each other with identical looks of pride, or that the rest of the room was leaning forward in anticipation. Her eyes were on Mrs. Hernandez alone.

“Finally,” said Mrs Hernandez, leaning back in her chair. “Some real competition.”

Father Brah, still smiling amiably, dealt Paula in.

~

Across the bar, the rush of endorphins from a show well done still coursed through Rebecca’s system, so good she could nearly sing. As it was, she hummed her way out of the crowd, toes stinging only a little bit (not all partners were as light on their feet as Josh).

They had enough couples set up who were eager to show off their new steps and teach the others around them, and her services were for the moment to be redirected to bringing others to the dance floor as guests cycled through.

This was good—this was better than good, it was the cat’s pajamas, it was great, and her and Josh had brought their A-game. They were Gene-Kelly-dancing-under-a-shower-of-milk-with-a-103-degree-fever levels of dedication here. No one could doubt that, especially not with the way her toes were aching now.

She ducked around Tim and his wife’s surprisingly synchronized number and passed George and his extremely hot date’s own improvisation, stepping out of the dance floor and surveying the tight hubs clustered around the tables lining the walls and the stools at the bars and the sofas, as well as the loose scatter of guests just standing and talking.

Rebecca observed the room for a moment, adjusted her dress straps, kicked out her heels and got to work.

~

Pretending to be a Prohibition-era mobster and directing various unsuspecting idiots to a priest’s card game was absolutely the last way Nathaniel expected to spend his Saturday evening, but it wasn’t a bad one.  He still felt a little ridiculous doing his bit with the Whitefeather crew, but pretty much everyone had taken to the spirit of Prohibition well, and it was hard not to be amused.

He was also starting to get why Rebecca used to use old-timey voices in the office all the time –it was _really_ hard to stop once you got started.

“Well, well, who is _this_ keen Joe Brooks?”

Speaking of old-timey voices…

He tried not to look up too quickly, but he couldn’t stop his answering grin, or the two-time pulse his heart tapped into to the beat of her heels as they approached him.

He touched his fingers to the brim of his hat in greeting.

“Just a man minding his own business.” He returned, leaning into the bit, looking her up and down. “What about you? Who is this smart sharpshooter?”

Rebecca’s eyes, glittering under the lighting, crinkled at the compliment. Her face was catching the light after so much dancing; she dabbed at her forehead and neck with a wadded paper napkin, which she quickly tucked away in her dress once it served its purpose.

He couldn’t help grinning as she returned his thorough once-over.

“Emerald green, really?” she asked, shaking her head in mock disappointment. “Couldn’t leave the House colors at home?”

“In my defense, Darryl picked this one out.”

“And you didn’t ask for a different color?”

“Hey, it looked good and it’s completely period appropriate—I have the receipts to prove it.” he raised his eyebrows at her. “Besides, you shouldn’t be talking; you’re looking pretty green yourself.”

Rebecca’s dress chimed as she laughed –the full body movement.

“Well, I’m just a good time girl, looking for that Green Glorious.” She rubbed her fingers together, startling a laugh from him. “Just gotta be forward about it.”

He leaned against the wall, one heel kicked back behind the other, hands in his pockets. “Well, you’ll have a hard time getting any if you’re flapping your gums at me. Aren’t you supposed to be dancing right now?”

“I do, but I need a new Oliver Twist. My last so-called eggs kept scuffing up my shoes and kicking my pins.” She looked him up and down in challenge. “Not to mention, I got curious. A little birdie told me that men of this fine establishment keep getting drawn into dens of sin by some smooth-talking devil.” She batted her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

He tipped his chin up at her assessment, studying her pursed red mouth and the smile hiding in the corners of it. “I only tell them what they already know.”

“And they leave with empty pockets?” she tsked, tilting her head to one side. “How will you sleep at night?”

“I’m not doing anything to their pockets. Paula’s the one taking them to the cleaners.”

“Wait, really?” asked Rebecca, distracted, breaking character. “Paula’s here?”

“Seriously.”

“I didn’t even see her come in. That’s awesome! She’s in the card room?”

“Yes, she’s tearing them to pieces and Mrs Hernandez is just as bad. It’s kind of terrifying. Don’t go in there unless you have a death wish.”

“Duly noted.” Rebecca bounced on her heels. “Except I might do it anyway just to say hi. Stay spiffy, I’ll be right back.”

~

Paula was gearing up to lay down a royal flush when Rebecca threw her arms around her from behind.

“Paula!” she squealed. “You made it!”

Luckily, she was able to press the cards to her chest, staving off any chance of her opponents from seeing them.

“Hey, you,” said Paula, twisting around in her seat, still shielding her cards. “Oh, honey, you look so beautiful.”

“You too. Oh my god, you look like Mrs. Peacock, but like from the actual card game, not the fussy version from the movie. That blue really suits you.”

“I appreciate the positivity,” interjected Father Brah gently. “But Rebecca? You’re slowing my game.”

“Brought it to a screeching halt, you mean?” asked Mrs Hernandez, glowering. Rebecca sprung away from Paula, sparing Mrs Hernandez an annoyed glance.

“Right, sorry. Nice suit, Father Brah.” Father Brah nodded in acknowledgement. “I could only stay a few seconds anyway, but I just had to see you. Go knock them dead for me, okay?”

“For you, chicken, anything.”

“And watch the guy on your left,” Rebecca added in undertone. “He looks kind of twitchy.”

 “I heard you,” said the young man irritably.

“And you are, Cornelius,” said Father Brah.

“Trust me, I am,” said Paula in an undertone. “Now go work up a sweat. I’ve got this.”

~

As much as Heather enjoyed being a Homebase site manager, she had to admit that it was nice to work behind the bar again, mixing drinks with nonsensical names, pitting cherries and getting to be worn-out and world-weary while still having the best vantage point in the room. Beth and Valencia were comparing notes on the other side of the room, conversing quietly in a corner. Hector and Whijo were still letting people through. Rebecca emerged from the poker room and was doing some kind of weird sashay back over to Nathaniel.

…Only then her eye was drawn to the curtain that divided the dance floor from the lounge area, and where it was rippling from two young men standing in front of it, talking quietly.

“Miss, my drink—”

“Quiet,” ordered Heather, squinting, trying to get a clearer view despite the dim lighting. The older one was just a white boy with short hair—nothing particularly memorable. The other was much shorter, had a floppy bowlcut, and looked weirdly familiar.

Actually…

“Oh, shit.” Heather muttered.

~

Nathaniel was still leaning against the back wall of the dance floor, scanning for marks, when Rebecca reappeared in a blur of green sequins.

“Wow, you’re right, Paula’s committing figurative murder there. All of those guys are gonna be swimming with the fishes tonight.”

“Sounds like you approve.”

Rebecca shrugged. “I’m just happy she’s here. Of course, I’ve also been dancing for over ninety minutes, so that could be it, too.”

Nathaniel hummed noncommittally. A comfortable silence stretched between them, as they watched the party move about them.

“So, uh, are you gonna dance with me?” asked Rebecca without looking at him. “Or am I going to have to sweet-talk you?”

She pretended not to see the surprised tilt of his head, determined to keep her eyes fixed ahead of her, as if it really was just a casual request.

“For swing dancing? Please. Buy me a drink first, I’m not that easy.” He scoffed, more playful than affronted, and she released a breath she hadn’t meant to hold.

“Did I say you were?”

This was good, she said to herself, tamping down on the pleasant buzz from around her lower extremities. This was fun, this pseudo-flirting. This totally wouldn’t have any issues—

Except Heather was gesticulating from behind the bar. In an unusually emotive manner that absolutely meant ‘get your ass here now’ in Heather-ese.

Rebecca growled quietly to herself, flushing when Nathaniel shot her a baffled look.

“Just a sec,” she said. “Let me get back to you on that. I have to see a man about a dog. Well, woman.”

“I’ll take one if you’re having one.”

“Okay, first of all, thank you for getting that because a ridiculous number of people came to this party who only know ‘bee’s knees’ and ‘cat’s pajamas’ and that’s just depressing. And secondly, that’s not actually what I meant. I wish—nevermind. I’ll be right back.”

With a wink and a bounce in her step that was a little more put-on that she wanted to be, Rebecca stepped away from Nathaniel and moved back through the dance floor towards the bar, elbowing a couple dancers out of her way with a little more force than necessary.

Heather didn’t even wait for her to ask what was going on when she reached the bar.

“So, remember Paula’s sons and that time you lost them in the club?”

“No, I lost _Tommy_ in a club. Very different. Why?”

“I definitely just saw them go into the lounge.” Heather did not sound agitated, but she spoke faster than usual, and the set of her shoulders was tense, even as she was squeezing lime juice with surprising vehemance.

The entire room seemed to tip to the left. Rebecca clung to the counter, so she wouldn’t follow it.

“What? How did they get in here?”

“I don’t know. I’d get them out but Vee gave me explicit instructions that I need to drown the room with alcohol and like, people’s ankles are barely wet and no one’s going to step in for like, three hours. Can you take care of it?”

Right, because children were exactly her forte. Not like she had a spotty record or anything.

But it had to be done.

“Ugh, yeah, no way Valencia needs to know about this. I can take care of it, and it will be totally fine.”

“Thank you.”

“Seriously though, how did they even get in here?”

“They’re Paula’s kids,” said Heather pointedly.

“Fair. All right, not like I have a bunch of guys around here anyways, so I’mma scoot for a few minutes and take care of this, you know, treat them to some whoopee.”

Heather gave her a weird look over the tumbler she was shaking.

“Does that mean what I think it means? I’m not sure that means what you think it means.”

“Says you,” Rebecca pouted. “Did _no one else_ read the phrasebook?”

“Just you.”

“Right.”

Rebecca turned on her heel and stormed back to where Nathaniel was still waiting, catching him by the wrist.

“Woah, where are we going? I thought we were gonna dance?” he asked, mobster mystique shaken when he tripped over his two feet with the force by which she was dragging him.

“Later. It turns out that I’m the designated bean picker, so we need to go and take care of some underage cellar smellers.”

“What?”

~

“I think that was everyone, right?” asked Whijo, closing the doors with a sigh of relief. Hector flipped through the stack of invitations in hand, nodding.

“Yep, should be.” He paused. “Wait, was that two decks for each of us or between us? Because I am not holding two decks of invitations here.”

“Uh…”

“Uh oh,” said Hector, standing quickly and ducking behind Whijo. “Angry flapper coming through.”

Whijo turned, and sure enough, Rebecca Bunch was marching towards them, Nathaniel in tow, scowling fiercely.

“Hey, Rosencranz! Guildenstern!”

“Who?” Hector asked Whijo, who mouthed ‘Shakespeare’ back at him.

“Wake beer?”

“They’re from Hamlet. Shakespeare.”

“Cut the jabber,” snapped Rebecca, making a slashing motion with her hand. “Did you guys let two underage kids in through the door?”

“Hi to you too, Rebecca,” said Whijo drily. “And no, we have not allowed access to any minors.”

“So you don’t have any extra cards? You sure?”

“I don’t think so?” Whijo shot a confused look to Nathaniel, who just shrugged. “Besides, everyone we checked had IDs.”

“Doesn’t mean much if they are anything like Paula. You sure no one came through off-list?”

“I mean, Saperstein brought in a couple of other people, but Valencia said to just give them a free pass—it’s not worth arguing with him, apparently.”

“Just what we need,” Rebecca muttered. “Okay, you gentlemen keep working your gig, excuse us.” She dragged Nathaniel away again.

“Well,” said Whijo. “That’s not worrying at all.”

“Wanna hear something worse?” asked Hector. He held up two cards. “It looks like we have two Jokers in this deck. Are these supposed to be here?”

“Uh…”

~

“Okay,” started Rebecca as they moved through the lounge area, which was no less packed than the dance floor. Rebecca used her elbows and Nathaniel slipped through in her wake. “So here’s the deets on Paula’s kids: Brendan is a lost cause and super creepy, while Tommy is kind of bratty but otherwise all right. I had to watch him for a weekend once and almost lost him at a club and he still covered for me and the one time Paula lost him in a mall his idea of a refuge was Barnes and Noble, so I have some hope for his prospects. The last thing the world needs is both of Paula’s offspring turning to crime.”

Nathaniel nodded, silently processing, following Rebecca to the edge of the divider and leaning against the adjacent wall.

“Okay…good to know. So, what do you need me for?”

Rebecca was crouched out by the edge, peering around, squinting and straining to catch sight of the two trouble-makers.

“I don’t really need you, exactly,” said Rebecca, crouching down and halfway around the divider, rather defeating the purpose of taking refuge behind it. “But I thought it would be good to have backup with some actual muscle mass.”

“Rebecca, I’m not about to get in a fight with a pair of _kids_.”

“Wait until you meet them,” she said darkly. “Just keep that embalmer look on your face because it’s totally working for my purposes.”

Nathaniel frowned, then shifted self-consciously.

“What look? I’m not doing a look.”

“Whatever—there’s the rascals!”

She dove around to the other side, Nathaniel following close behind, only to stop abruptly, to avoid running into where she was now rooted on the spot.

“Oh, shit.”

“What?”

Rebecca was scowling fiercely. “Whijo had it right. They are with Saperstein.”

“What’s the deal with this guy? Every time someone mentions him it’s like he’s a leper.”

“He’s a rich idiot,” said Rebecca darkly. “Which is great when he pretty much agreed to all of Valencia’s ideas and lets her walk all over him. It is less great because if the terrible two have an ‘in’ with him, we’re going to have a hell of a time pushing them out—”

“REBECCA B!”

“ _Shit._ ”

Rebecca hastily stood up, shaking out her dress, pasting a tight smile across her face.

“Rebecca B!” boomed Saperstein again, bouncing up to them like an oversized manic elf, grinning madly. Rebecca smiled back, a reflexive tightening of the face that Nathaniel recognized from Valencia when she discussed her client. “How is your beautiful self finding this party? Isn’t it off-the-chaaaarts?”

He sang the last part right in Nathaniel’s ear. Or tried to. Nathaniel leaned away as far as he could, rubbing at his ear to sooth its sudden ringing.

“Mr. Saperstein,” said Rebecca sweetly through her teeth. “I was _just_ looking for you—”

He snapped his fingers, nodding his head vigorously. “I knew it, I knew it you couldn’t get enough of me the first time, right? Ready to dance?”

 “Not quite. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the charming young gentlemen sitting in your inner circle over there. The ones that look like they probably got into this party by having the little one stand on the bigger one’s shoulders under a trenchcoat—who are they? Do you have any idea? Do you have a clue? Like at all?”

“Who? My boys?” Saperstein flung out an arm in the general direction of the seating area, narrowly avoiding clocking Denise Martinez in the face as she passed by.

“Yep.” Rebecca nodded rapidly. “Those are the ones. The very ones.”

Saperstein shrugged. “Yeah, they’re cool kids. The bigger one even brought some super nice brownies to share with moi. You know them?”

“Yeah, okay, those are not just brownies and you don’t need to ingest anything else. Look, Mr Saperstein—

“Ugh, enough with the ‘Mr Saperstein’, Becca B. I told you. My friends call me Jean-Ralphio. J-to-the-E-to the—”

He proceeded to beatbox all eleven letters, hyphen included. Nathaniel and Rebecca just stared at each other in quiet horror.

Rebecca didn’t even blink, though her eye twitched slightly at the nickname. “I’m not gonna do that. Listen, those two are underage. They shouldn’t even be in here.”

“Yeah, but I invited them, so it’s cool, right?”

“Nope. Still illegal.”

“Ooooh, see, now it’s just awkward, I can’t just ask them to leave…”

“Don’t you own this place?” Nathaniel cut in, incredulous.

“I mean, I do, but it’s haaard,” he whined, again, right into Nathaniel’s ear. Rebecca groaned, throwing up her hands.

“You know what? I don’t have time for this, excuse me.” She shouldered Saperstein aside easily, moving nimbly through the pack.

Nathaniel made to follow, but Saperstein slid in front of him, his thin body a surprisingly effective barrier.

“And who are _you?_ ”

“No,” said Nathaniel, trying to get around him, but still finding his path blocked.

“Aw, come on man, don’t do that! Seriously, I’m just trying to be friendly, what’s your name?”

“Nathaniel,” he said curtly. “Look, I’m not—”

“Nah, man, that won’t do, you need something else.”

“Don’t leave him alone with your name too long—” Rebecca called over her shoulder, already well into the crowd. “He’ll do terrible things to it!”

Saperstein was shaking his head tragically. “Dude, that’s such a ridiculous long name. It totally won’t do at all, but no worries, I can fix it for you.”

“You really don’t—”

Jean-Ralphio snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it: Natty-boy!”

Nope.

“Yeah I can tell by your face that you’re not feeling that one. That’s okay, I’ve got others!”

~

Rebecca felt a twinge of guilt at leaving Nathaniel behind like that, but she was a woman with a mission that needed to be completed at all costs.

She took a deep breath and approached the seating area.

“Remember, they can smell your fear,” she told herself, trying to give herself a pep talk. “It won’t take much. Just be calm as a lake before the storm, or smooth like a butterfly, or whatever that metaphor Valencia likes to use so much is.”

 “Hi Rebecca!” Tommy at least waved at her as she approached, while Brendan looked mutinous.

“Heyyyyy guys!” She tried to keep her tone buoyant. “Be on the level with me—what are two dewdroppers like your handsome selves doing here, putting on the ritz, and what can I say so that we don’t have to give you the bum’s rush, hm?”

Tommy blinked. “What did you say?”

“Didn’t get that? Ugh, fine, you gatecrashers need to get a wiggle on.”

Brendan squinted at her. “Are you having a stroke?”

“Ooh, wise guy, got it,” said Rebecca, nodding vigorously, placing her hands on her hips. “Fine, back to basics: what the hell are you guys doing in here?”

“My customers tipped me off,” said Brendan, still scowling. “That Jean-Ralphio guy is pretty cool—he practically paid me to do business here.”

“I don’t doubt it,” muttered Rebecca. “Right, yeah, okay, well, you shouldn’t be here, this party is for 21 and over.”

“Not like anyone noticed,” said Tommy, shrugging.

“Okay, look. I don’t care what Jean-Ralphio said. You could get in some serious trouble if you’re caught. So, how about you scoot, go home, play some nice card games and call it a night, okay?”

“Why would we do that?” challenged Brendan. “This is the perfect crowd to work. And the Perez lady is one of my customers anyway, so I don’t think she’ll say anything about it.”

Rebecca resisted the urge to drag her hands down her face –Valencia might not be thrilled about Paula’s sons, but she would be even less thrilled if Rebecca ruined her own makeup beyond repair.

~

“Okay, okay, I got it. How about ‘The Natster’? Feeling that one?”

It was a very good thing that Saperstein was valuable to Valencia, Nathaniel thought, because otherwise he would be sleeping with the fishes, and it was becoming less and less metaphorical with every new moniker.

Fortunately for Saperstein, an unlikely savior intervened.

“Hey, boss. Who’s this sleek number?” Karen materialized besides him without warning, as she often did, dressed in an electric blue, spangled number with a terrible platinum wig and standing way too close.

Nathaniel had never been happier to see her in his life.

“Karen? Have you met the host of this fine establishment?” asked Nathaniel, in his most ingratiating manner.

“I have not.” Karen twisted the string of beads around her neck, coquettish, eyeing Saperstein like Angelique with a new toy. Saperstein, oblivious, appeared equally intrigued.

Nathaniel feigned surprise. “Really? Then you should get introduced. I think you’ll find that you have a lot in common.”

He ducked around Karen to make his escape, just barely catching Saperstein’s “And what’s _your_ name, baby doll?” and missing Karen’s coy response entirely.

He shuddered internally and went off to find Rebecca. Some things were better left unwitnessed.

~

“All right,” Rebecca cracked her knuckles.  “How much do you expect to make tonight?”

Brendan cocked his head to one side, crossing his arms.

“How much are you willing to offer?”

“Okay, look, kid, I am not messing around here. See that man back there? The one that looks like a sexy shark?” she gestured towards Nathaniel, who from the looks of things had managed to shake off Saperstein and was weaving his way through the crowd, expression set.

Tommy frowned. “Isn’t he just Mom’s other boss?”

Rebecca blinked. “Wow, you know that? You actually pay attention? What am I saying, that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that he’s dangerous. Like that mafia look is just for tonight, but he’s got connections. I can’t make you disappear, but I _can_ promise that whatever happens, it won’t be pretty.”

“You wouldn’t risk it. And Mom wouldn’t stand for it. Didn’t you just get back on her good side?”

“Oh really? And of the three of us, who is the favorite child here, hmm?” She leaned in, popping her eyes wide. “I’ve done time, I’m capable of anything.”

“Mom said you were turning over a new leaf,” said Tommy, but he sounded less sure than before. Brendan was also looking a little less mulish.

Rebecca let her smile stretch a little wider, doing her best Harley Quinn impression. “Oh, I did. And I am. Which is why she would never suspect me.”

Nathaniel finally reached them, falling into place behind her, silent and appropriately looming.

“So, boys, how about we make a deal?”

~

Rebecca shooed him away during the negotiations, so Nathaniel retreated to an unoccupied corner of the lounge, until Rebecca had perp-walked them out the door and rejoined him on one of the purple chaises, folding a bit of paper into a square and sticking it into her dress.

“You didn’t actually do time,” he said, apropos of nothing. “Wouldn’t they know that?”

Rebecca shook her head, wiping her forehead. “Shush, what Paula’s sons do and don’t know is the question for the ages. Paula will probably be happy to know that they do listen when she talks about her workday though, so that’s a plus. Thanks for the help—that face was super effective.”

“You’re welcome,” said Nathaniel dryly. “How did you convince them to leave?”

“Oh, the old-fashioned way.” Rebecca puffed out her cheeks in annoyance. “Enterprising brats. Cost me five hundos.”

“I’m sorry, you bribed them with how much?”

Rebecca slouched further down into the velvet, crossing her arms. “You heard me.”

“Right. And was that per kid or for the two of them together?”

Rebecca waved away the question. “Does it matter? The important thing is when the fuzz raid us, there won’t be underage kids screwing things up.”

“And there was no way you could have just told Paula that her kids were here and let her deal with them?”

“That’s not how their family dynamic works, and she shouldn’t have to deal with it. She came here to relax tonight. Anyways, I need a drink, could you use a drink?”

“Definitely. You owe me after Saperstein.”

Rebecca scrunched up her face. “Yeah, I do. Any preferences?”

“Just make it strong.”

Rebecca nodded and clicked her way over to the bar, leaning halfway over the counter to get Heather’s attention. She returned with two shots of dark red liqueur, one of which she handed to him. They clinked glasses and downed them. Nathaniel nearly choked as the alcohol burned a path through his esophagus.

“Holy shi—what’s _in_ that?”

“No idea.” Rebecca looked like she had just swallowed gasoline, her entire face squeezing. “I just asked Heather for the strongest stuff on the house. Got a kick, doesn’t it?”

“That’s putting it mildly.” He could feel it burning through his bloodstream.

Rebecca reached over and grabbed his wrist. “Now come on. We’ll make an Oliver Twist out of you yet.”

“Swing isn’t really my style,” protested Nathaniel, allowing her to tug him to the edge of the dance floor without making a big show of reluctance.

He didn’t know if the quick uptick in the music or the effect of the cocktail that made him feel slow and awkward, but then Rebecca was taking his other hand to rest between her shoulderblades, and that was familiar, and she sidled a little closer than necessary, so he had to duck his head to hear her instructions, and that was familiar too.

~

“Beth!”

On the other side of the dance floor, Beth turned around to behold Paula sweeping up behind her.

“Hello stranger,” said Beth, looking her up and down appreciatively. “I hear you’ve been driving the men of the party to bankruptcy.”

“Eh.” Paula fluttered her fan. “That makes it sound so much more impressive than it was. Everyone in that room were complete neophytes. It’s almost too easy. Still, Mrs. H and I are having a good time, even if we’re going to have to continue our game at a later date.” She sniffed. “Apparently we were distracting the other tables. Amateurs.”

Beth laughed. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch it. Are you here to dance?”

“I might take Scott for a spin, once the kiddos get tuckered out enough they aren’t kicking everyone.”

“Do you need me to get you a drink, then? Just relax on one of the lounge chairs and you two can enjoy yourselves.”

“Thank you for the lovely offer, but Scott’s taking care of it. Though, I did want to ask you something about that.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Heather made me one of those house cocktails earlier—the Rattler? I’m dying to know: what the hell is in Snake Juice? I’ve mixed my share of drinks back in the day, and I’ve never tasted anything like that.”

“It’s very unique,” said Beth diplomatically.

“You call home-brewed moonshine is unique. Whatever convinced Rebecca and Nathaniel to try lifts is on another level.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Do I look like I would joke about that?”

There was a loud shriek of laughter from the other side of the room. Valencia rushed past, brandishing her phone and looking harried, shouting, “All right, if you two are going to get flashy, you are going to hold still for my website. Hold, _hold it, Nathaniel!”_

Beth and Paula shared an amused look.

“As long as they aren’t hurting anyone,” said Beth.

“We can only hope,” agreed Paula, before changing tracks. “How is Valencia holding up?”

“Very well. She’s keeping busy.”

She could just barely see Valencia bodily moving Rebecca and Nathaniel into a more photo-friendly patch of flooring.

Paula nodded in approval. “Good to hear. How about you? You don’t need me to take care of anything? No hooligans to throw out?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, keep me posted. You never know what kind of trash might sneak in here.” She looked dreamy for a moment. “I used to sneak into clubs. Remind me some time to tell you about the time I managed to get in this one place by impersonating Molly Ringwald with colored contacts and a pink scarf.”

“I would not miss it,” said Beth solemnly.

~

It took more time than she liked, but Valencia was able to get the pictures she wanted and left Rebecca and Nathaniel to their own devices, looking relieved. She slid back into place besides Beth, surveying the crowd. Paula waved at her from the chaise, while Whijo and Hector, relieved of doormanning, walked through the perimeter of the room, keeping an eye out for any trouble. Saperstein was staying put in his manmade VIP section, so she could happily ignore him for a moment.

“Any change?” she asked Beth.

“No change. But someone wants to talk to you.” She turned and gestured towards the dance floor and to Valencia’s great reluctance, Josh looked up and met her eyes.

“What is this about?” Valencia hissed to Beth as Josh excused himself from his partner and started to thread his way through the throngs. “Did something go wrong?”

“Have a little faith. And he didn’t tell me.”

Josh bounded over to them, glistening under the lights, his sleeves rolled up over his elbows, coat and vest gone and the top button of his shirt undone. It was a better look for him than the suit had been.

“Hey, Valencia!”

“Hey Josh,” said Valencia, trying for appropriate warmth. Josh’s smile wavered slightly, but he took a deep breath and stepped a little closer.

“How’s it looking from your side? Because it’s been going great over here, but you know, if there’s something I can do, any heavy lifting you need done, I’m happy to help.”

“Thank you Josh, that’s a very kind offer,” said Beth, with a meaningful look towards Valencia that she couldn’t quite interpret. “But you are doing a great job. Everyone seems to be having a really good time. No one has anything but good words for you.”

“Oh, good.” Josh brightened. “In that case, did either of you have a chance to dance yet? Show off some of your smooth killer moves?”

He stretched the vowels in ‘smooth’ with a step-drag-touch, offering his hand like a gentleman. Beth grinned, delighted, and even Valencia’s shake of the head was from amusement rather than exasperation.

“No thanks, Josh,” she said. “Just keep turning on the charm. But, hey, since you’re here, I’d like some pictures of you dancing for Instagram.”

“Absolutely! Let me know if you need any hashtags. And, uh, send them over to me when you have them done.”

“Deal.”

“Hey, Valencia? One more thing?”

Valencia looked up. “Hm?”

Josh rubbed at the back of his neck, almost abashed. “I, uh, just wanted to say, it’s been a lot of fun doing this. So. Thank you for taking a chance on me, again. Especially since last time was so rough.”

Beth wordlessly detached herself from the conversation, tucking her hands in her pockets and drifting over to the lounge area.

“Oh, you know.” Valencia looked back down at her screen without really seeing it. “I always knew you were a good dancer, so. And Rebecca really made her case for you being a good fit. It wasn’t like it was a hard decision.”

Josh took a deep breath. “Yeah. Well, either way, it meant a lot to me. I’m even thinking about maybe doing some teaching on my own.”

“Really?”

“Not swing, obviously,” he added quickly. “Like, I can do it, but it’s not really my scene. But, yeah. I like this stuff and getting to watch people really show off what they learned. It’s really fulfilling. I was thinking that maybe I could do something with the rec center, you know, teach a few classes as a guest teacher to get started, and then see if I could take over a class of my own.”

“That sounds…wow. That sounds like a plan.”

Josh shrugged. “I mean, DJing seemed like a good idea at a time, but it wasn’t really going anywhere. And, I know dancing. Why not give it a try?”

“Why not?” echoed Valencia. Then, sincerely. “You would be good at it.”

Josh’s mouth fell slightly open.

“You…you think so?” he asked, tentative and hopeful. “Bex said the same thing but, you know, she’s always been nice like that.”

Valencia found herself smiling at Josh in a way they hadn’t shared in many years.

“I do.”

~

As the night went on and the crowd loosened and made merry, the choreography across the dance floor grew sloppier and more uncoordinated and frenetic.

Darryl loved it. The majority of the crowd might have been at least ten years younger, but there were enough Whitefeather employees and Homebase regulars that he didn’t feel like an old tumbleweed among the new growth, and moved among the different areas freely. He left Mrs H to her winning streak, skirting the edge of the lounge and the rowdy conversations and guffaws to slip over to the dance floor that grew ever more crowded.

Josh was still the best of them, surrounded by a gaggle of happily tipsy dancers trying to imitate him or dance with him, while Rebecca and Nathaniel were closer to the edge of the dance floor, negotiating through a series of increasingly outlandish moves, sometimes laughing too hard to follow them through. Darryl felt a familiar pride bubbling up to see them so loose.

He was about to go over and see if he could request a quick lesson, but he caught a flash of a familiar muscular figure leaning against the bar, a few feet beyond the dance floor. Whijo and Hector, on break for the moment, while Heather leaned over with her face cupped in her hands to listen to their conversation.

“What is Nathaniel doing?” He heard Whijo asking the other two as he approached them. He seemed utterly fascinated.

“No idea,” said Hector, bracing his elbows on the bar counter. “At least it’s not us, huh?”

“Hey guys! Are you having fun?” Darryl bounded up to them, surprising Hector, who yelped and nearly spilled his drink.

“Yeah, we are,” said Whijo, his smile a white flash in the low lighting. “Valencia throws a good party. You’re having a good time, right, D?”

“Oh yes! Yes, definitely, but people keep looking at me funny when I try to talk twenties-style at them. I think it’s because I didn’t have time to get the phrasebook, and you know how dodgy online sources can be.”

“Or it could be the fact that you’re talking faster than most people can think,” supplied Hector.

“Maybe,” said Darryl sadly. “I had some of that Snake Juice, so maybe that’s affecting me more than I expected. I just want to keep _moving_.”

Heather narrowed her eyes at him. “How many drinks did you have?”

“Barely anything,” protested Darryl. “A drop! A smidge! Who needs alcohol when you have this kind of atmosphere to get drunk on?” He threw out his arms for emphasis, mindful that they would clear the bottles arranged decoratively at the corner.

Whijo, whom Darryl had been both directing his words towards and also trying not to look at too closely, was smiling at him in his own fond way. “That’s a good question, D.”

“Have you soaked it in yet?” he asked. “Done a shimmy? Torn up the floor?”

“Uh, not yet—”

“Well, you should! Go and dance, you’ll have fun.”

“He would, but he doesn’t have his partner,” said Hector.

“Oh? Don’t worry, I’m sure I can find someone for you,” said Darryl, craning his neck and scanning the crowd, missing how Hector not-too-subtly elbowed Whijo in the ribs.

“Or, you know, you guys can dance together,” said Hector, after a moment passed where nothing happened, with great helpfulness.

“I don’t want to get in the way of your talk,” said Darryl hastily, looking between them.

“You’re not,” said Hector, blinking innocently at Whijo’s suspicious glare.

“No, really, it’s fine.”

“You sure?” asked Whijo. “I bet Josh can show us a few new moves.”

Darryl lit up, eyes crinkling and feeling like a Christmas tree on the inside.

“I mean, yes! But only if you want to, of course. You know how these two left feet can get.”

“I know.” Whijo offered his arm, and Darryl took it, and they headed to the dance floor.

~

The bar was the best vantage point in the building, and Heather kept mixing drinks, watching in amusement as the night unfolded further.

There was Whijo and Darryl were trying to Charleston. Darryl kept trying to insist on a lift, while Whijo could be heard to repeat, in increasing volume, that he was not about to help Darryl throw his back out in the middle of a crowded dance floor.

Scott and Paula finally had their turn and whirled around the dance floor, doing a surprisingly energetic foxtrot. Unfortunately, Scott lost his hat.

To the right of the bar, Beth approached Valencia again, taking her tablet and passing it to Heather, who promptly hid it.

“Hey!” protested Valencia.

“That’s the third time you’ve checked the list. _Relax,_ ” said Beth, firmly steering her towards the dance floor. “You’ve done an amazing job. Mr Saperstein is _literally_ singing your praises—”

“I heard him; he needs to cut it out.”

“Come on. Dance with me.”

“We’re the organizers!” Valencia protested. “We can’t just—”

“I’m not saying we’re going to get raving drunk.” Beth wrapped an arm around the curve of Valencia’s hip. “That would be irresponsible. But let’s have a couple of songs. Come on—Josh wants to give us a lesson.”

She led her away to the dance floor, calling for Josh.

After another round of lessons with Josh, Rebecca had tired of dancing and took her seat at the fair end of the bar. Nathaniel had joined her, jacket over his arm. They talked quietly, heads bent close, Rebecca’s elbows propped up on the bar, her chin in her hands. She had appropriated Nathaniel’s fedora, which was too big for her and by insisting on wearing it at a tilted angle, it kept slipping over one eye, so that Nathaniel kept stopping to adjust it.

Heather passed over new drinks but otherwise gave them some room.

Josh kept working and charming the crowd, keeping the mood up and carrying through the transitions made by the band with an ease of practice—

~

“Okay, enough people-watching, Heather, you are _off-duty_.” Valencia cut into Heather’s vision, eyes bright, pulling Rebecca off her stool as she passed by, and grabbing Heather’s wrist and tugging her around the bar. “Pour us a round, and then we need to dance. Like _right now_. Come on, let’s make this happen.”

“I mean, someone needs to take over—”

“Hector!” Valencia bellowed.

“I got this, babe,” said Hector, grinning and vaulting himself over the countertop. “Have fun!”

Heather did not have any time to protest.

~

“Heeeey Whijo,” said Hector, as they watched the girls dance together from the bar. “Didn’t you have a whole spiel about girls dancing in circles?”

“Uh bup bup bup,” said Whijo, shaking his head. “No, no, I have a spiel about straight girls in gay bars who dance in a circle. That’s a totally different thing. A sociological thing. I don’t know what you call all of…that. I don’t even think you can call that a circle, whatever that…geological formation they have going on there is.”

“Geometrical,” corrected Nathaniel, swaying. “Pretty sure you mean geometrical.”

“No, geological is equally appropriate,” insisted Whijo. “See—yeah, there it goes. Look at all those structures they’re toppling. Definitely geological.”

~

“Beth, babe, my darling, love of my life—”

“Your keeper,” said Beth in amusement. “Do you need some water?”

“Oh, I had some. Don’t worry about that. Anyways, this is important. We need a photo.” She shoved her phone under Beth’s nose. “Me and the girls. Can you take it? It’s super important that whoever takes it gets it right and I trust you for that. Please?”

Beth looked them over. Valencia’s face was shining, Rebecca was bent nearly double with an attack of the giggles, and Heather was gently swaying.

“If you can all stay upright for more than three seconds,” she said, taking Valencia’s phone. “Now, everyone get up. Paula! Paula, could you get in here?”

“Easy does it,” said Paula in amusement, slipping over to Rebecca’s other side and practically supporting half of the younger woman’s weight.

Beth only clicked a couple of pictures before Rebecca slipped out from under Valencia’s arm.

“Wait one second—Nathaniel! Where’s Nathaniel—get over here!”

She zeroed in on him where he was still at the bar, and dragged him over to their table by his shirtfront. He still had the hat but had long lost the jacket.

“I’m getting Hector,” said Heather, immediately going to the bar and snapping her fingers. “Barkeep, one smooth-armed newsboy, please.”

“Josh too!” insisted Valencia, leaning heavily against Beth.

Josh was summarily retrieved from the dance floor, also bringing Whijo and Darryl in tow.

“Cheese!” shouted Rebecca, throwing her arms around as many necks as she could, pulling them all together.

“Wow. This is amazing,” said Paula, thumb tapping the ‘Record’ icon on her phone. “You are all going to regret this in the morning.”

~

A series of increasingly silly pictures later, and after Beth dragged Valencia away to get some water, Heather dragged Hector off to a dark corner, and Rebecca appeared behind Paula’s shoulder.

“Hey, Paula? I need to talk to you.”

“Why? Is something on fire? Did you accidentally set something on fire? It’s fine, we can put it out, we don’t have to tell anyone.”

“What? No! It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?”

Rebecca took a deep breath. “So, something you didn’t know but I just wanted to warn you before you got home—but Tommy and Brendan were here.”

“What?”

Rebecca held up her hands in supplication. “Now, don’t freak out—"

“Those little bastards,” said Paula, almost admiring. “I thought they were asking too many questions, but I couldn’t figure out their angle.”

“Well, a little more freaking out might make sense.”

“Right, right, sorry. How dare they, I can’t believe them—is that better?”

“If it makes you feel any better, it turns out that they actually pay a lot of attention to what you’re doing with your life.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Makes it easier to plan their heists. Enterprising brats.”

Rebecca squealed. “That’s what I said!”

Paula’s laugh quickly turned into a sigh, and she propped her hands on her hips, scanning the room with a practiced eye. “So, they’re still here?”

“No, I already sent them home, so you don’t have to worry about it. I just wanted to let you know that, yes, they were in here.”

Paula rubbed her temples. “Oh, okay. Well, thanks for letting me know. How did you get them to leave?”

“Persuasive rhetoric.”

Paula angled her a dubious look. “Really? You’re gonna pull that one with me?”

“I mean, does it really matter? They should have been home for hours.”

“Huh.” Paula studied her, thoughtful. “I’ll let that slide for now. I’m actually kind of impressed you got them out without making a scene. Good for you.”

Rebecca beamed. “Thank you!”

“And whatever bribe you gave them, I’ll pay you back.”

“That’s really unnecessary.”

“Hon, if you got them out that easy, they settled and they didn’t deserve it. Now come on, let’s go try one of those weird green snake-themed cocktails Heather keeps complaining about.”

~

At the end of Josh and Rebecca’s third round of lessons (though, to be honest, Rebecca wasn’t sure how many of the moves from this one would stick for the cheerfully inebriated crowd), she found herself gently accosted by Valencia latching onto her arm.

“Rebecca! Rebecca Rebecca…”

“Say my name three times and hence I will be summoned,” proclaimed Rebecca between giggles as Valencia pulled her off to a quieter corner, away from the crush of bodies. “What’s up?”

“I want to say thank you.”

“Hm? For what? Because if it’s for the dancing, like, don’t even. I might actually start taking lessons, that was way too much fun—”

“Not just the dancing,” interrupted Valencia. “But just for everything you’ve been doing here.”

“Oh, Valencia, really, it’s the least I can do, especially after what happened last time—”

“I know, I know.” Rebecca watched as Valencia drew a deep breath. “But it’s not just that. You’ve been checking in, all night, and both Beth and Heather said you did stuff for them. It’s just…you really have been making this good for us, and I’m grateful to you for it. I had my doubts, like a lot of doubts, about you and Josh working together, but…you guys did an amazing job. You looked so good together.”

The tension that had tightened Rebecca like a bow all evening abruptly loosened, and she nearly sagged in relief.

“I’m so glad you think so. But seriously, Valencia, I should be thanking _you_.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Like, these past few weeks Josh and I have legit bonded, without any pretenses. Doing this together was seriously like a healing balm on our tortured past.”

Valencia’s forehead wrinkled, open to the compliment but not sure where it was leading. “Doing the Charleston?”

“I mean, it’s hard to be mad at anyone when you’re both wiggling your arms around like noodles, but not what I meant. I was thinking that it had more to do with the fact that Josh and I are both card-carrying members of the Consistently Disappointing Valencia club, and we were desperate to get out.”

“Oh.” Valencia smiled and shook her head. “Well, you have my permission to get rid of your membership. Your dedication has been really, really great.”

Rebecca bumped her shoulder affectionately. “Look who’s talking. Thank you for the second chance. Or third chance? Fourth?” Rebecca winced. “You give way too many chances.”

“I know. But you’re my friend, of course I will.”

Overwhelmed, Rebecca threw her arms around Valencia, squeezing her tightly. Valencia returned the hug, then when Rebecca didn’t let go after an appropriate interval, patiently waited out the remainder.”

“But, since I’ve been so helpful, would you mind a bit of constructive criticism?”

“What’s up?”

“What is with all of the sirens? This song is awful.”

Valencia scowled, a little affronted. But as she listened, her annoyance morphed to confusion.

“That’s not the music…”

There was a loud banging on the closed doors.

“Who the hell is that?”

The sirens were really loud now, lancing through the alcohol-drenched atmosphere. There was a loud banging on the door. Then, the crackle of speakers.

Rebecca started to laugh.

“It’s the fuzz,” she gasped. “Oh my god, _shit_ , it’s actually the fuzz.”

~

“My speakeasy got _raided_.”

Valencia sat rigidly at Heather and Rebecca’s kitchen table, hands to her forehead, still in shock. Father Brah, Scott, and Hector were seated around her, all looking appropriately sympathetic.

Beth, standing behind Valencia, rubbed her shoulders soothingly.

“Valencia, it’s going to be fine.”

“How? We got raided. Not like it was a bit—we _actually_ _got raided_.”

“Points for authenticity?” asked Rebecca, trying in vain to suppress her giggles into Paula’s shoulder from where they were squished together on the sofa, between Nathaniel and Darryl. It was awful, because she could understand why Valencia was upset—but the fact that a speakeasy-themed party actually got raided by the police was the pinnacle of irony to her alcohol-soaked senses.

“Not even about the alcohol, it was a freaking _noise complaint!_ ” Valencia made a noise like an angry cat and let her head fall against the table.

“Hey, on the bright side, we probably got some good publicity,” Beth said to Valencia, patting the top of her head gingerly, like she was petting a disgruntled hedgehog. “No one’s going to forget this one.”

“Again: speakeasy. Kind of supposed to get raided,” added Whijo from the foot of the sofa, leaning against Darryl’s leg. “That’s just good planning.”

“Yeah,” piped up Josh from over the kitchen sink, where he was wiping down his face and neck with a damp handtowel. “You could totally tweet about it, slap some filters and hashtag it #oldschoolending. People would get it.”

 “That actually isn’t a bad idea,” said Beth thoughtfully. “Anybody get pictures?”

Hector held up his phone; Beth went to retrieve it.

“Well, while you’re doing that,” said Heather, reaching down into her bag and producing several bottles of liquor, to various exclamations. “Since we have nothing better to do for the rest of the night…Who wants to break their dry spell?”

 “How did you sneak that out?” asked Rebecca suspiciously. “I thought you said that stuff was gross?”

“Eh, it’s not terrible. I got used to it. Also, this dress has, like, a ton of secret pockets for flasks and stuff.”

“What the hell, hit me,” said Valencia, throwing up her arms. “Since my party got shut down and my client was _nowhere to be found_ when the police wanted to talk to him.”

“So about that,” said Beth. “He finally texted me back. Apparently, he is going to a three-way with ‘Angelique’, Karen, and some voyeur named John Slither.” She pulled a face. “Not that I really want to know, but does anyone have any idea whose alias that is?”

Nathaniel, Paula, Darryl, and Rebecca all exchanged grimaces.

“You don’t want to know,” said Rebecca, getting up to head towards the kitchen to take down the glasses. “And please give me some of that snake oil so I can get that image out of my head for, like, ever.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have any more if you’re calling it snake oil,” called Heather after her.

“Maybe I should tell you who Long John Slither is,” Rebecca shot back.

“Pass.”

~

“Nope, that is _not_ a word,” said Nathaniel. “Absolutely not.”

“I don’t know, I agree with Rebecca—I think I’ve heard it before,” Darryl chimed in.

“It all just sounds like nonsense to me,” said Whijo, head lolling back against the end of the couch.

“Even the ones that are real are nonsense,” agreed Father Brah.

Rebecca glared. “You guys suck. Okay, okay, lame-os, I’ll make this a little easier for you. Here’s a word that actually exists, guess the slang: wet.”

“That sounds obscene,” observed Heather from where she was resting her head in Valencia’s lap.

“Well, it’s not. Come on, guess!”

“Drunk?” suggested Josh.

“Nice, but no.”

“Stop saying every word means drunk,” said Whijo.

“Hey, at least seven words already meant drunk,” protested Josh, trying to smack Whijo on the knee and missing, flopping onto his lap.

“He’s right,” said Hector, leaning over and pulling him upright. “You can’t fault him for that one.”

“I agree,” said Father Brah, leaning back on his elbows, his legs sprawled out in front of him. “Like Josh has a lot of weird ideas but guessing that a word from the nineteen-twenties is about alcohol is not one of them.”

“Thanks guys,” said Josh. He frowned. “I think.”

“Cowardly?” suggested Beth, leaning on Valencia’s shoulder.

Rebecca shook her head, then had to stop because the room was spinning. “Nope, but that kind of sounds right, doesn’t it?”

“I know this one,” interjected Nathaniel. “It was someone against Prohibition, right?”

“Ha!” Rebecca pointed a finger triumphantly in Nathaniel’s direction, only for it to veer slightly north and point at Beth instead. “No, it was someone unsophisticated.”

Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. “No way.”

Rebecca didn’t break eye contact with the confidence of a very drunk history buff. “Yes way.”

“Not in the book I read.”

“Well, you’re not the one in charge of the game, so I have to say no.”

“We could look it up,” he challenged.

“We could, except that would require moving.”

“Guys, you’re being boring," cut in Valencia. "What’s the next word?”

“You’re _all_ boring,” complained Paula. “Just lying around playing guessing games. Darryl, don’t you remember what afterparties were like back in our day?”

“Not really—I was always trying to stay sober so I could clean up afterwards,” said Darryl. “None of the jokes ever made sense.”

“Fine, we’ll stop with the word games,” said Rebecca, rolling her eyes. “Anyone have any other suggestions?”

“Best Saperstein impression?” suggested Hector.

The approval was surprisingly enthusiastic.

“God, you guys are tame,” grumbled Paula.

~

The alcohol was long gone before Paula and Scott looked at the clock and declared it was time to head back home. Father Brah had already ghosted and the others agreed, with various degrees of mobility, to call it a night.

“I should probably go,” said Nathaniel, one hand against the wall, as he stood, blinking hard. “What address is this again?”

“Hey, before you do, let me get that book and we can find out who’s right about ‘wet’,” said Rebecca, a bit fuzzy. “Come on. It’ll only take a minute.”

She hooked her arm through his and started pulling him towards her room—he followed without resistance.

“If he doesn’t come out, I’m not going in there after him,” Heather called after them. Rebecca paused long enough to flip her off before slamming the door pointedly.

Heather shrugged and looked back out at the rest of the group, none of whom were yet upright. “Right. So I need to go to bed before my brain slips out of my ears, but you’re all welcome to stay. Like, we have extra sheets and some sleeping bags from my backpacking trip.”

“Since when?” asked Hector.

“I’m outdoorsy. You knew this.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” said Darryl, swaying gently. “The room keeps bobbing.”

“You gonna be sick, D?”

“No, it’s just that everything is turning slowly upside down.”

“Okay, got it.” Whijo wrapped his arms around Darryl’s waist to keep him upright.

“Yeah, so the bathroom is over there, and if you need to throw up, we have a bunch of barely used pots in the kitchen.”

~

The morning after an event was supposed to be a time for reflection. To consider what had gone right, what had gone wrong, and what could be improved.

And it would be the same today…if Beth could revive Valencia to a coherent state.

“I’m dead,” Valencia moaned, muffled from the marble countertop. “I am actually, totally dead.”

“Take some aspirin,” said Beth, sliding a napkin over with two pills and a glass of water. “You’re dehydrated and you haven’t eaten.”

“No, I’m definitely dying,” Valencia insisted. “In fact, I probably did die, and I came to life, and now ghosts are obsessed with me.”

“I thought the sage got rid of them?”

“Not in this house,” Valencia muttered, cracking open an eye to glare up at the ceiling. “A bunch of drug dealers got murdered in here, and they’re always yelling about asbestos. That’s why I never moved in.”

“Wait, really?”

Valencia nodded, one hand creeping up to the kitchen island and swiping up the pills. She sat up straight with some difficulty. “Wow. What did I drink?”

“We’ll start with the glass of wine when you were trying to be classy. Then two shots of Snake Juice. Then straight up moonshine, which is where I cut you off. But I think the Snake Juice is what did it.”

“Yeah. Didn’t Heather say that stuff had a ton of caffeine in it? I thought it was supposed to keep you awake.”

“It does seem to have the opposite effect,” agreed Beth, smoothed down Valencia’s hair, tucking it behind her ears. She looked out across the living room floor. “Seriously, everybody is sleeping like the dead.”

“Because we _are_ dead,” grumbled Valencia, putting her head back down on the counter like it was her pillow.

“Hey, none of that. Here’s something that’s gonna make you feel better: Paula texted, and she’s coming over with some stuff to help with hangovers.”

“Coffee?” asked Valencia hopefully.

“Probably coffee,” agreed Beth. “Do you think you can survive until then?”

Valencia took a deep breath, and slowly righted herself. “Yeah. I’m okay. Let’s do this.”

They managed to review the layout and flow of the party when Rebecca’s bedroom door jerked open, and the woman herself stumbled through, groaning, wearing her bathrobe over a green silk slip.

“My head,” she moaned, not even bothering with morning greetings, wobbling her way to the marble countertop and resting her head forehead first upon it. “It’s like Mickey Mouse enchanted a bunch of pots and pans to play the Star Bangled Banner in there.”

“Better than the Copacabana,” said Valencia.

Rebecca looked like she was about to spin out her own reply, but then from her still-open bedroom door emerged Nathaniel, still in his pants and undershirt but missing all other raiment.

“Please stop talking so loudly,” he groused, coming to join Rebecca’s side at the kitchen island, resting his head in his hands.

Both Valencia and Beth looked at him, then back to Rebecca, identical looks of ‘please explain’ stamped across their faces.

Rebecca shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it, nothing happened. I proved him wrong and then we just kind of passed out on the bed.” Rebecca flapped a hand vaguely, accidentally making contact with Nathaniel’s shoulder. “Honestly, I don’t think it was physically possible for us to have sex at that point of inebriation.”

Nathaniel looked like he would have liked to object, but then he shuddered, face tinging green, and put his head back in his hands.

“Easy, buddy,” said Beth, amused. “I’ll get you two some water.” With the ease of long familiarity, she moved over to the cabinets to take down the glasses.

“Aspirin, too,” mumbled Rebecca.

“Rebecca.”

“Aspirin, _please_.” Rebecca corrected.

“Thank you,” said Valencia, mollified.

The second bedroom door opened, making both Rebecca and Nathaniel cringe, and Heather emerged alone, bleary-eyed.

“So, that was probably the best party I’ve been to,” she said without preamble, dragging herself onto the island stool with somewhat less flailing than Rebecca had managed. “But on the other hand I am so hungover that I kind of want to die.”

Beth wordlessly took out the industrial-sized aspirin bottle and left it on the counter.

“How’s Hector holding up?” she asked. “Still sleeping?”

“Yeah. He’s fine, but Josh wasn’t doing so hot, so they were up pretty late. He’s doing better now; they were spooning when I woke up, so it was kinda cramped, which is why I‘m out here now.”

“Oooo-kay?” said Rebecca, baffled enough to risk raising her head. “Spooning?”

“Yeah. It was actually really cute—I took a picture for Hector’s mom. They used to do the exact same thing at school. See?”

She held up her phone. Rebecca slid herself across the counter to look over Heather’s shoulder.

“Oh, that is cute,” she cooed, at the same time that Valencia looked over and said, “Yep, all the way through third grade.”

There was a groan from the living room as Darryl and Whijo, finally, were stirred by the noise from the kitchen.

“Holy moly,” said Darryl, sitting up in his sleeping bag, still zipped up, not letting go of Whijo’s hand. On the sofa cushions besides him, Whijo groaned and covered his eyes with his free hand.

“Who let all the light in here?”

“The cruel, cruel sun,” muttered Rebecca.

There was a knock at the door, the sound of which made everyone but Beth seize up.

“Don’t move all at once,” said Beth in amusement, going to answer it.

“Hey!” It was Paula, looking much better than literally anyone inside the house. She had both hands full of grease-stained In-N-Out bags. The salty, crisp scent of fries emanated from them. “How are the kids holding up?”

“No one’s throwing up,” said Beth, opening the door wider, allowing Paula room to step through. “But honestly, that’s not much of an achievement.”

“Yeah? Let’s see – oh wow, yep, you all look terrible,” said Paula, taking in the sprawl of bodies across the living room into the kitchen. “You guys could be the Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre.”

“Hey, Mama,” called Rebecca in a piteous whine, flopping one arm in greeting. “My head is going to fall off and explode.”

Paula shifted her bundles so that she could reach out and take Rebecca’s hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.

“Considering the number of shots you took last night, I’m not surprised.” She turned her attention to Nathaniel. “I am however, disappointed in _you_ , Nathaniel. I thought you would have had some decent tolerance from your frat boy days.”

“Hey, I don’t think it counts if you’re basically drinking rat poison,” protested Nathaniel. “And how are _you_ not hungover? You had just as many as I did.”

“Please, it takes a lot more than one questionable liqueur to get me down.” Paula patted him condescendingly on the shoulder before dumping her packages on the kitchen table. “Well, come on guys, dig in. The grease will help.”

Nathaniel was shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ll pass—”

“Oh come on, you need to eat something,” said Paula, staring him down. “My sons could take you in a fight right now. Speaking of which—Rebecca, I have your exit money from last night.”

“What?” asked Valencia, looking across the counter to Rebecca.

“I’ll explain later,” muttered Rebecca, fingers digging into the roots of her hair.

“I never eat during the day,” Nathaniel said to Paula. “You know that.”

Paula raised a challenging eyebrow at him. “Still? Well, look, you might want to consider it, because tomorrow is going to come around and you are still going to feel like shit.”

“We could institute Weekend Tuesday again,” offered Darryl, wiggling out of his sleeping bag with Whijo’s assistance. “I know Tim missed it.”

“We would still need to get through Monday,” moaned Rebecca. “I need to call Maya and make sure she didn’t die. She’s so tiny she might have drowned. Nathaniel, any objections to cancelling Monday?”

“You can cancel Monday. I’m still going to go in.” said Nathaniel, after a long pause, and without much conviction. Rebecca reached over to one of the white paper bags, pulled out a burger, and jammed it into his hands.

“Then you better eat, seriously.”

As Nathaniel, not unbegrudgingly, started to unwrap the sandwich, she turned back to Valencia.

“Valencia, I’m so sorry about the party.”

“Don’t worry, I’m over it now. It’s not the worst thing that could have happened,” said Valencia, shrugging. “We just got shut down. And I have the money. It wasn’t a complete waste of time.”

“I would go one further and still call it a success,” said Beth, scrolling through her phone. “We have three new requests. Bigger scale.” She passed it over to Valencia. “Can’t say it wasn’t good publicity.”

“No you can’t,” said Valencia, scrolling through. Beth watched closely, gratified at the beginnings of a tiny smile stretching across her girlfriend’s face.

“Hey guys?” Josh came out from Heather’s room, rubbing his eyes, Hector following in his wake.

“Hey Josh, you’re awake,” said Heather. “How is your head?”

“Better. Ish. Do you guys know where Father Brah is?”

Rebecca looked around the room, frowning. “Not here. Why? Didn’t he go home?”

“I hope so.” Josh held up his phone. “Because I just got a text that he’s ‘never been closer to God’ and I’m a little worried.”

“That doesn’t sound good. Is he okay?” asked Darryl, looking over in concern. “Do we need to call a hospital?”

Josh shook his head. “Nah, he sent me a Snapchat of a raven staring him down.”

He held it out for general inspection.

Paula squinted. “I think that’s a weather vane.”

“Pretty sure it’s a palm tree,” said Darryl, twisting around for a closer look.

“…is he on the roof?” asked Rebecca.

“Not ours,” said Heather.

There was a pause as the room processed this new information.

“Huh,” said Nathaniel to Whijo. “You weren’t kidding. Man of many talents.”

“How did he even get up there?” asked Rebecca incredulously.

“Do you really want to know?” Valencia asked. “More importantly, who wants to volunteer to get him back down?”

“I’ll go, he called me,” said Josh immediately. He headed towards the door, but barely took two steps before he had to stop, stumbling a little. “Okay, wait, the floor is trying to become the ceiling, give me a minute.”

“Hey man, now, come back to the counter,” said Beth, taking him by the arm and leading him back to the kitchen.

“I’m fine! I just need to get him down.”

“No way, Josh,” cut in Valencia sternly. “I know what happens when you have a hangover and we are not doing that. Sit down, sit tight, take some aspirin and someone else will take care of it.” Valencia smiled briefly at Josh, then turned to look at Hector and Whijo for a long moment, eyebrows raised.

“Well?”

They looked at each other and groaned.

“Every time,” muttered Hector as, once again, they went at her bidding.

~

**Author's Note:**

> What was this supposed to be? Well, I wanted Valencia to plan a speakeasy, I love the idea of Vinnie and Rachel swing dance together, and also a chance for Rebecca and Nathaniel to chat each other up like old-timey characters, and for everyone to be friends, more or less, and have hijinks. Then Jean Ralphio popped up. The result? This fic. No, I have no idea what I was thinking. If you've made it here, thank you so much for reading!


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